


and all my life, I never had a chance

by janie_tangerine



Series: the jaimebrienne spite countdown to season eight [10]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (the suicide attempt is barely even there tbqh but at this point I'll tag everything properly), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child on Child Sexual Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Consent Issues, Dissociation, Experimental Style (most likely apologies for the abuse of italics), F/M, Flashbacks, Heavy Angst, Jaime Lannister Has Issues, Not For Cersei Fans I Warned You, Past Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recovered Memories, Recovery, Repressed Memories, Sibling Incest, Spitefic, Suicide Attempt, Therapy, Underage Rape/Non-con, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 13:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18223499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: “Very well. I’m going to tell you straight up — when you told me you hadn’t remembered that episode at all, it was a red flag. Given everything else you’ve said up to this point and how you reacted to recalling it and what you’ve said about your general coping mechanisms —”“Coping mechanisms?”“You might not know it was that, but you’ve used a lot of them. And this is where I tell you that repression or suppression of traumatic memories is very common, when discussing child abuse victims. Especially male ones.”He doesn’t know why his first instinct is denying it.It’s fucking ridiculous.He went to a guy who’s a fucking authority on the subject because deep down he knewthatcould be the issue, if he even thinks about that one memory he wants to throw up, since he remembered that he hasn’t been able to walk near dogs without wanting to jump on the other side of the road, it’s been two months and he’s gained a new awareness of how unhealthy his entire life was until he broke it off with her —And still, his first instinct is telling him,it can’t be?





	and all my life, I never had a chance

**Author's Note:**

> So, today's anon asked someone this gem of a question in SEPTEMBER 2015:
> 
> Now, never mind that anon above obviously hasn't realized that it still means that Brienne's old enough to consent to any sex she wants, it seemed a fairly weak objection especially taking into account my personal text interpretation on whether there's a canonical CSA component as far as Jaime/Cersei is concerned and I figured I was going to address that one issue. I'd also like to state that it's a text interpretation that I've thought over for years and only settled after reading up on how likely it was/how it made sense in light of how much it explains of Jaime's character in canon when it comes to his coping mechanisms, his issues and how he sees himself (or doesn't) as an individual and it has nothing to do with how much I like or don't like J/C as a ship myself - when the aforementioned text interpretation struck me first it wasn't even a notp as far as I was concerned/I didn't even mind it for itself.
> 
> Tldr, I'd argue for it based on how: a) their sexual interactions when Joanna was still alive are *not* normal experimentation, b) Jaime _has forgotten what happened in those episodes_ , c) at age thirty-something he has a completely fucked up conception of his own sexuality. I also actually DID go and read up on the topic just to be sure I wasn't making things up and if anyone is interested, there are sources on it [here](https://www.secasa.com.au/assets/Documents/Age-appropriate-behaviours-book.pdf), [here](https://www.healthychildren.org/English/ages-stages/preschool/Pages/Sexual-Behaviors-Young-Children.aspx), [here](https://www.stopitnow.org/ohc-content/what-is-age-appropriate), [here](https://www.devonsafeguardingchildren.org/documents/2015/09/sexual-development-in-children-and-young-people-developing-a-best-practice-approach.pdf/), [here](https://www.berrystreet.org.au/child-abuse-and-neglect/abnormal-sexual-behaviour), [here](https://link.springer.com/article/10.1023/A:1015252903931) for what concerns the experimentation debate, [here](https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/5472/d46ac2bf5a114c5c90207de115d61f2cb5ef.pdf), [](), [here](https://www.researchgate.net/publication/265153411_Recovered_memory_of_child_sexual_abuse_-_Fact_or_fantasy) and [here](https://www.researchgate.net/publication/236851529_Child_Sexual_Abuse_Survivors_with_Dissociative_Amnesia_What's_the_Difference_Journal_of_Child_Sexual_Abuse_224_462-480) for what concerns the forgetting memories/dissociation debate. [This](https://www.jstor.org/stable/42869139?seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents) is the source where I got the part about how to deduce possible CSA from drawings. I have more sources but I figured these would be enough, in case I can share without a problem.
> 
> Also: I'm fully aware I'm touching a very delicate and complex topic, which may upset some or worse, be downright hurtful. I tried to elaborate on the topic with sensitivity and genuine effort, and I do hope not to have involuntarily done it poorly. I read up as much research as I could and I discussed this with a friend who works in the field/has studied the issue in depth and has provided me with half of the above sources, has checked this once in case I was being inaccurate or getting things wrong - any shortcoming is all on me and not on the source-provider (who has all of my gratitude for actually helping me out with it). I should have tagged any warning that applies for filtering out purposes - hopefully I haven't forgotten anything. (Also, the rape/non con tag is because of how it's perceived by the receiving part, I _don't_ think C. would have known what she was doing at that age and it's specified in the fic, but I still figured it'd be best to tag it in case someone blacklists it.)
> 
> Finally: the J/C (hopefully it's enough to make sure it's clear the ship is in it but not to go into the tag, and in case apologies but feel free to scroll) is there because it's a fundamental part of this and there are flashbacks which wouldn't be covered with the *past* label only and given the content I'd rather overtag. I own nothing as usual, the title is from the Gaslight Anthem and I'll leave it here.

 

He keeps his hands clenched together in between his legs if only because otherwise he knows his fingers would be shaking.

They did in the waiting room until he was called in.

He’s not so sure he wants to make it obvious.

“Please,” Dr. Baratheon had said as he ushered him in, “take a seat.”

Jaime had.

The seat is comfortable, at least. It’s a pale peach color with soft cushions. It’s the only spot of color in an otherwise impeccable, clean office — white walls, dark desk, dark bookshelves, everything tidy and neat.

Stannis Baratheon is only a couple years older than he is, but he has a good name in the field, and when he checked his credentials, they showed an excellent success rate with patients. That’s why he’s published an endless list of academic articles and three books when he’s barely thirty-six.

Thankfully, his waiting list wasn’t too long.

He looks up into the man’s blue eyes, glances at his impeccable charcoal suit with a straightened equally blue tie.

“Do you want a glass of water?” He asks.

“Not really,” Jaime replies. He feels like if he drinks something, he might feel sick. “But thank you.”

Baratheon nods, his elbows going to the desk.

“Mr. Lannister,” he says. “Given what kind of issues I am specialized in treating, I assume _that_ is why you wanted to see me.”

“I — I think so,” he answers.

He takes a deep breath.

“But I really don’t know how to call any of that.”

“That’s my job,” the man says. “And we have an hour today. We can start whenever you feel ready.”

He nods, but says nothing. His hands are sweating.

After he says nothing for two minutes, Baratheon clears his throat.

“Or maybe you’d prefer direct questions?”

“Yes,” he immediately replies. “I’d rather.”

“Very well.” He seems to consider it.

Then.

“I don’t want to know _why_ you’re here exactly at this moment. We can get to it later. But for now… was it something that you’ve always known but couldn’t talk about before _now_ , or did you only realize it lately?”

He breathes in.

“I realized it recently. I think.”

“Very well.” Stannis notes something down on a notepad. “You _think_?”

“It’s — complicated.”

“We have all the time in the world to figure it out. Now, what is it that you realized recently?”

He shrugs. “Well. I think — it’s because, uh, my previous… long-lasting relationship.” He pauses. “If you want to call it that.”

“Are you in another, now?”

“Hopefully,” he says. “But — I couldn’t expect her to stay in it, if I don’t — figure this out.”

“All right. And who was the _previous_ long-lasting relationship?”

He swallows, then looks up at him.

“My twin sister,” he says.

 

***

 

_Cersei’s bed is large, and soft, he thinks as her hands touch his hips and she drags him closer._

_It’s the first thing he remembers._

_He thinks so, at least. He has vague memories of his mother singing to him, maybe, but — this is the clearest one._

_He doesn’t know how old he is. Four? Five? Maybe._

_“Your eyes are just like mine,” she whispers, like it’s some kind of secret shared just in between them. Her hand slips into his hair. “This, too.”_

_He closes his eyes, feeling her arms around him._

_“Just like me,” she says._

_“Just like you,” he echoes._

_He goes to sleep a moment later._

_He thinks she was saying she hates it when they don’t sleep together, the bed feels so large and empty._

_He remembers slipping inside it every night._

_Until he didn’t anymore_.

 

***

 

Baratheon’s eyes go wide for a moment, but then he takes back a professional stance. “Your twin sister.”

“Yes,” he says. “I know it’s —”

“I’m not _judging_ anything here. Also, _you_ said it wasn’t healthy in the first place.”

He laughs, slightly.

“You could say that.” He squeezes his hands tighter. “I just — I didn’t realize how it was. For a while.”

“And _how_ was it?”

 

 

_Just like you._

That was — that time.

 

_No one would notice if you wore my clothes and I wore yours._

That was — when they were seven. Probably. He thinks so.

 

_You’re part of me and I’m part of you_.

He doesn’t remember when _that_ one started. He can’t.

 

_We’re just the same person. If I was a man, I’d be you_.

He doesn’t remember when she said that first, either.

 

 

He breathes in.

“She seemed — she said we were the same person.”

“And what did _you_ have to say about it?”

Good question.

“I said nothing,” he admits. “I thought she was right. Even if — some others, they said different.”

 

***

 

_“Why do you always say you’re like her?” Tyrion asks him out of the blue when he’s six and Jaime’s thirteen and Cersei is out at ballet practice._

_“What?”_

_“Come on, I hear it. You always say that you get her because you’re the same person. But you’re not.”_

_Something in the casual way Tyrion says it makes something under his skin tingle, but not in the good way. His first instinct is telling him to shut the fuck up about things he doesn’t know, but — no. He wouldn’t do_ that _to his brother, of all people. He takes a deep breath, calming himself down. “What do you mean?”_

_Tyrion doesn’t look too impressed as he glares up at him, his small hands clutching his fairytales book._

_“You’re_ here _now. She wouldn’t be. She hates me, you don’t.”_

_“Of course I don’t —”_

_“See, you didn’t say that_ she _didn’t.”_

_“It’s complicated,” Jaime finally says, not wanting to think about it. Tyrion doesn’t get it. Jaime loves him, but he can’t get it._

_“I bet it is,” Tyrion sighs, and goes back to his book._

_Jaime feels relieved._

_He doesn’t think about that conversation much, from that point on._

 

***

 

“Who did?”

“My brother,” Jaime admits. “He was right, in hindsight.”

His knuckles are so white it almost hurts. He tries to relax his grip.

“How long did it last?”

Yeah.

Not a question he was relishing answering. “Until two years ago,” he admits.

“Two years,” Baratheon says. “Did the both of you have any other relationships?”

“She’s married,” Jaime says. “Has been since she was twenty.” He breathes in. “That somehow wasn’t a breaking point for her.”

 

***

 

See, _she had said,_ I’m marrying him just because Father needs me to. And it’s for the company’s benefit. But you’re the only one I want.

_Her hand was running over his leg as they laid under that thin sheet in summer. It was their twentieth birthday._

But —, _he had said._

Oh, he’s not going to be there all the time, _she had smiled._ And I’ll find you when he isn’t.

_She had kissed him then._

_He had kissed her back, thinking that for that, he could have waited all his life_.

 

***

 

“What about you? Have you been with anyone else, while —”

“No,” he admits. “Just her. _That_ was the breaking point, actually.”

“Was it? How?”

“I thought — she said there wouldn’t be anyone else. Other than her husband, of course. Then — I found out there _were_ others.”

“I see,” Baratheon says. “And was that the only reason it ended?”

“She — she said I didn’t understand why, and that she _had_ to and a whole other list of reasons, and I could only think that she had lied for years, and — I never did. Lie to her, I mean. I broke it off and she’s been treating me like it was _my_ fault it ended since.”

Shit. He feels suffocating.

“I’ll have that glass of water, if it’s possible.”

“Of course.” Baratheon opens the water bottle on the desk, fills a nearby paper cup with it and hands it over to him. Jaime downs it at once and crumples it in his hands.

“There was — well. I mean. I guess we’ll get there. But — that was it in… broad lines. I guess.”

“And how about your current girlfriend?”

He feels his fingers relax ever so slightly.

“She’s the entire contrary, I think.”

“And how did you meet her?”

Not the question he was looking forward to answer, either, but — “She convinced me to _not_ jump off a fucking bridge a month after things ended with Cersei.”

 

***

 

_“You know,” a female voice he hadn’t heard before in his life said from behind him, “that railing is slippery.”_

_He had turned and found himself in front of a tall woman dressed in a dark coat definitely cut for men, a nose that was definitely broken once or twice already, straight straw blonde hair, and a pair of damn worried blue eyes that made her homely face way prettier than it’d have been otherwise, not that he was noticing_ that _out of everything._

_“And how is that any of your fucking business?” He had spat back._

_She had looked at him as if she was_ worried _._

_It somehow hadn’t added up._

_“I can’t just walk in front of people who seem about to jump off a damned bridge and not stop,” she had said, her blue eyes suddenly looking lit up from the inside with righteous anger as she stared at him._

_He could have joked about her knight in shining armor complex and about how much she had the looks for it but was focusing on the wrong person._

_Somehow, he couldn’t in the face of the fact that she was a total stranger and actually stopped when his cellphone is blowing with texts from Cersei telling him that he’s being irrational and unreasonable and that if he knows what’s good for him he’d apologize._

_“And what is your schtick, giving them a pep talk and disappearing?” He had replied instead, with less venom than he was aiming at._

_She had moves closer, put a hand on his arm tentatively —_

_“What do you need?” She had asked instead, looking entirely serious._

 

_***_

 

“I see it worked,” Baratheon says. “Did you get together then?”

“Hell, no. Well, she about kicked my ass into straightening my shit out _and_ I punched in the face at least a couple idiots she knew from high school when I went with her to her reunion and I found out they were complete assholes to her back in the day before we figured out that we liked each other. Took us one year or something.”

“Good,” he says.

“How so?”

“Getting straight into a new relationship coming from _your_ background might not have been a very good idea, if you’ll forgive my bluntness.”

“Please,” he says, “as if you wouldn’t know better.” He figures he should just _say_ it. “Anyway. The problem — is that… until recently, I thought — what I had with my sister.”

“Yes.”

“I thought it was… unhealthy, but — that was it. I suppose. Then — _something_ happened.”

“What exactly?”

“The reason I’m _here_.”

He takes very, very deep breath.

“I freaked out. In a very specific situation. And — I realized something.”

“Tell me.”

He doesn’t know _how_ he’s supposed to.

But he’s going to try.

 

***

 

_It had been half a joke, in the beginning. They were both tipsy with a couple of good beers in them, and he was trying to get Brienne to look embarrassed in the way she used to in the beginning but doesn’t really now, not after she’s been around him for this long._

_He hadn’t really expected her to answer,_ well, why not, _when he joked about whether she’d like to try anal, since they both so like it when she uses a strap-on on him._

_He just wanted to rile her up a bit._

_But she just shrugged and said that she didn’t see a problem with it, and maybe it would spice things up a bit further, and she never thought about it in depth, but trying it out? Sure, why not?_

_At that point, he couldn’t exactly go back on it. Not when it had been his idea._

_But_ something _had felt wrong. He didn’t know what, he didn’t quite put it into focus, but — there was a feeling in his gut telling him to drop it._

_He didn’t listen to it._

_He should have had._

_“When do you want to, then?” He grinned at Brienne instead._

_“Why, you want to do it now? I’m cool with it,” she smiled, and —_

_“All right,” he had answered, but he felt a shiver along his back._

_It must have been that he felt cold, he had decided._

_They had gone upstairs, and if his legs shook a bit, well, they had drunk. It was normal, right?_

_The fact that he somehow didn’t really feel like doing_ that _out of everything, though, kind of disappeared the moment they stumbled inside her bedroom and she started losing clothes. He glanced at her long legs and pale skin, freckles all over those muscles and her shoulders, and suddenly he felt interested all over again, but of course — fuck, he loves looking at her, since the moment he let himself realize she turned him on as much as — as Cersei ever did if not_ more _he couldn’t have enough, and so what if maybe he wouldn’t like it? He could just say it was nice but he preferred the other way around next time, and it was sex with_ Brienne, _what could have gone wrong?_

_She opened the nightstand’s drawer, throwing the lube his way._

_He caught it with shaking fingers. Why were they fucking shaking? He had no idea._

_“So,” Brienne asked, pushing down her underwear and sitting on the bed, “you coming?”_

_“Sure,” he had said, and took a breath as he joined her on the bed, losing his jeans along the way._

_She spread her legs, then considered something and turned over._

_“You don’t have to,” he said, kneeling on the bed._

_“But it should be easier for you if I’m like this, right?”_

_In retrospective, he could have gotten out of it telling her he wanted to see her in the face._

But maybe _, he thought,_ if she doesn’t see me, then she can’t know if I’m liking it or not, right? After all, it’s not like _— with Cersei, the two times he said something didn’t really feel interesting to him, she’d just glare and say,_ if you like it that way, _and then they wouldn’t fuck for weeks until he pretty much begged her to come back. He knew it wasn’t the same, he_ knew, _but —_

_Better not risk it._

_He had coated his fingers in lube, his breath speeding up. But not in the good way. What —_

_He shook his head. Then moved them to her ass, right where the opening was. He slipped one inside._

_“How does it feel?” He asked after a moment._

_“A bit weird,” she said —_

 

 

“Look at them,” Cersei says, staring at Mace Tyrell’s dogs in the next yard over.

“So what?” He asks, looking back at them as one of them mounts the others from the back —

 

 

_“Hey,” Brienne asked, “you all right? You just stopped.”_

_“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I just — thought about something. Never mind. I’m fine.”_

_He didn’t know why he thought about those dogs. He hadn’t thought about them in years. He thought he had forgotten them, for that matter. Why —_

_Never mind._

_He adds a second finger, wondering_ why _his head is feeling lighter than it should be._

_“Oh,” Brienne says, “now — it’s less weird.”_

_“Good?”_

_“I — I think so? Go ahead,” she says, and then —_

 

 

“Come on, no one’s home,” Cersei says, grabbing his hand. “No one will know.”

“I’m not so sure,” he protests weakly. “I mean, why —”

“Why _not_?” She grins. “Or what, you’d chicken out of it?”

“I’m not — of course _not_ ,” he replies, with the kind of bravado you outgrow when you’re past seven years old, “but what if Mom comes back sooner —”

“Come on,” she says, leading him back, “it will be nice. They’re liking it, aren’t they? Do it for me. I think it’ll be good,” she smiles —

 

 

_The hell. Why was he thinking about Cersei now? He hadn’t even remembered that one time, he hadn’t thought about Cersei in this kind of situation in years, why the fuck…? He shook his head, put some more lube on his fingers, got ready to move the third inside, slow, and then glanced down at himself and realized that he wasn’t really hard anymore._

_What —_

_Well, he certainly couldn’t fuck Brienne regardless if he wasn’t ready for it, so he reached down for his dick with his free hand, the other one working its way inside her, staring at her large, pale shoulders, with blonde hair covering her neck, thinking of all the ways she’d moan for him after, desperately trying to get it back up because then it was Not Going To Work and_ he _would be disappointing her same as he ended up disappointing Cersei whenever he couldn’t —_

_“Oh, it does feel good now —” Brienne says —_

 

 

Cersei locks the door to their room before raising up her dress, kicking off her shoes and underwear.

Jaime’s fingers are stuck on his half-opened jeans, and he’s staring at her pale legs and green eyes staring at him expectantly.

“Come here,” she whispers, and he does, her hand grabbing his and opening his jeans for good, pulling them down. Then she grins as she turns over and presses her back against his front, feeling his crotch underneath. “Just like they did,” she says, her voice sounding so sure, while he just follows her lead because if he’d talk she’d understand that he’s not really liking it, and he prefers it when they hold each other under the covers, but he couldn’t say that _now_ could he and Cersei’s still telling him that it feels good and he needs to rub against her harder and it’s not how it should feel because he wants what she wants he’s always wanted what she wanted because they’re just the same like he’s always known because that’s how it has always been and if she wants it then he also wants it that’s just how it is and it always was and it always will be but it doesn’t feel _good it doesn’t it doesn’t **itdoesn’twhydoesn’tit** —_

 

 

_“Jaime?”_

_He blinked._

_Someone was calling him, he thinks, but everything feels weird and wasn’t Cersei here —_

_“Jaime?!”_

_There was a movement, maybe two, maybe three, he didn’t know, someone had hands on his shoulders but he didn’t know —_

_“Jaime, please tell me something because this isn’t —”_

_He blinked again, suddenly bringing a couple of blue eyes into focus, and wait, why was everything blurry, shit shit shit he was crying and Brienne was in front of him looking worried out of her mind and he definitely wasn’t hard anymore and his hands were shaking so hard it was a miracle he could see them and everything is_ wrong _and he never wanted it, he didn’t, but he didn’t remember, why didn’t he, why did he_ now, whywhy **why —**

_“I —” He started, then he shook his head and then his stomach turned upside down so violently he lurched from the bed, and — “I need to vomit,” he managed, and a moment later she had dragged him to the bathroom and he was throwing up his guts inside it, and he hadn’t realized —_

_He closed his eyes, heard the door lock, felt Cersei’s hands on his wrists —_

_He threw up again._

_He threw up for a damned long time, his face wet with tears even if he didn’t know why or how and what the fuck it was about, and shit, he hadn’t even touched her, he hadn’t done_ anything _—_

_“If I asked what just happened?” Brienne had asked cautiously as he breathed in and out, still kneeling over the toilet in case he wasn’t done. “You don’t have to tell me.”_

_His throat hurt. He said nothing for a moment._

_“There were dogs,” he whispered._

_“There were — never mind. Can you stand?” Her voice sounded kind of far away, but — wasn’t she right there?_

_He said nothing and kept on looking down, because if he closed his eyes he’d see Cersei’s golden hair and green eyes and pink mouth and that green dress she was wearing and he’d hear the door closing —_

_“Jaime, can you hear me?”_

_Suddenly he_ did _, closer than she was before. His throat still hurt. He nodded._

_“Okay,” she said. “Okay. You don’t need to talk, just — tell me if you need anything.”_

_“Just talk,” he managed to say before a bout of dizziness took him again. She started telling nonsense about the last time she talked to her dad, which he didn’t even grasp fully, but the more she talked the less lightheaded he felt, until he nodded and raised his head enough that she could help him sit up against the wall._

_“Can you tell me what happened?” She asked, sitting next to him._

_“I don’t know,” he said, his voice so low he could barely hear himself. “I mean — I just remembered — something I hadn’t. For a long time. And — please, I can’t — I can’t do_ that _.”_

_“… Of course not,” she answered, sounding horrified. “For — of course not,” she said, her voice lowering, her hand going around his shoulder. “You know what, if you can stand we can just go back to bed, I can make you some tea, we can call it a night and discuss it tomorrow, how about it? Unless you want space —”_

_“No, it — has nothing to do with_ you _. But — yeah. Sounds good. Thanks,” he managed, feeling like his head was going to explode and feeling tears on his face all over again._

_What the_ fuck _was wrong with him?_

_But —_

_Why hadn’t he remembered —_

_Why had he thought until now that the first time he and Cersei — did_ anything _like that, it was when they were fifteen?_

_Why had he fucking_ forgotten it _?_

 

_***_

 

He has to give it to Baratheon — he _doesn’t_ flinch as he hears it or anything.

He looks down at the pad.

“I see,” he says. “A few more questions, if you feel up to it?”

“I’m here for that, am I not?” Jaime answers, not feeling any of that bravado he’s trying to show.

“Very well. So, when you remembered it, how exactly did you feel? I think I gathered, but I would rather hear it from you.”

He nods. “It was — the entire set-up felt wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on why it did. The more it went on the worst it got, and when she turned her back it became — bad. I just — was going ahead with it and then every once in a while I’d see those memories flashing in front of my eyes and I wouldn’t see — the rest. Not at all.”

“Did your girlfriend notice?”

“I didn’t tell her and she wasn’t looking at me. She noticed when it got — bad.”

“Is there a reason why you _didn’t_ tell her?”

He breathes. “I didn’t want her to think I couldn’t — do it, if she wanted.”

Baratheon notes something else down. “All right. How old did you say you were when — this happened?”

“We were seven,” he says.

“And before that episode happened you had no idea _that_ had happened?”

“No,” he replies sincerely. “I — I had completely forgot it. I guess. If you asked me when, I couldn’t answer.”

“That’s fine,” Baratheon says, noting it down. “So, you felt like you were _somewhere else_ and not in your bedroom?”

“Pretty much.”

Baratheon looks at his watch. “There’s enough time left,” he says, nodding. “All right. I have something else to ask you. Which will sound very weird to you, probably, but if you can answer it, that would tell… a few things.”

“Ask away,” Jaime says, feeling like he’s going to faint.

Baratheon hands him another paper cup filled with water. He drinks it.

“Did you draw, when you were that age?”

“I — I’m sorry? Like, in school?”

“I guess. Or for yourself.”

“I wasn’t very good at it.”

“That’s not the point, don’t worry.”

“I guess,” he replies. “I mean, after Tyrion was born, when Mom died, I kind was around his room to keep an eye on him for — reasons. It happened when I was bored.”

“Do you remember _what_ did you draw?”

He tries to recall, but shakes his head. “I — not really. Also because I stopped when both my father and Cersei saw those drawings.”

“Really. Can I ask why?”

“Will it help you _figure things out_?”

“It could.”

Well. He’s _here_. He told him about _that_.

This is nothing in comparison. “Father just said I wasn’t good at it. Cersei — she said they were depressing.”

“Depressing.”

“The only thing I remember is that she thought it was depressing that all of them had a bunch of dead trees in them. Or trees with broken branches. Or something like that.”

At _that_ , Baratheon’s eyes narrow. “Do you happen to remember _why_ you drew them like that?”

“Not really,” he admits, trying to and failing. “It made sense, though. I remember that.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have kept any of them?”

“I’m afraid not,” Jaime says. “I threw them in a box, but I definitely didn’t bring it with when I left the house. I don’t even know where it might be. Is there something I should know about it?”

Baratheon looks at the time again.

“I don’t know if we have enough time, but let me tell you something. We’re going to have to discuss all of this again, obviously, and I’m anticipating you, it’s going to be a lot of work and you will hate every second of it, most likely, but — I don’t think I will have to refer you with a colleague with a different specialization.”

On one side, he’s just relieved he wasn’t seeing things.

On the other —

“So — it means that —”

“It would be very unprofessional if I said anything more now. But I don’t think it will take _too_ long to be sure of what I’m suspecting here.”

He nods. “I — I understand it.”

“My secretary will book you for next week at this same time,” Baratheon says, managing to _not_ sound cold as he says it, somehow. “Just one last question. Have you talked to your sister, lately?”

“No,” he immediately says. “I couldn’t.”

Baratheon nods. “I would advise you not to for — a while, at least. Then I will see you next week,” he says.

“You will,” Jaime says. He feels drained.

But he needs to get to the bottom of this.

Even if he _hates every second of it_.

 

— —

 

(“How did it go?” Brienne asks the moment he slides into her car’s passenger seat — she was waiting for him outside already.

“I’m going back next week,” he says, not knowing exactly how to answer that question. “I mean. It — went _somewhere_.”

“Good,” she says, putting the car in gear and driving away. “Did he say anything —?”

“He says it’s too early but — I didn’t pick the wrong person.”

She nods, driving ahead. Her lips are pressed together. For a moment he thinks she’s going to say this is too much for her and she’s going to back out. He’d get it —

“Listen,” she says, “I’m not saying you have to share or anything. I can imagine you don’t want to and that’s why it’s _his_ job to help you figure it out. But if I can do anything to help you with whatever it is, just ask, all right?”

He’s _not_ going to do something exceedingly embarrassing.

“All right,” he says, “but I’m warning you, he _did_ say I would hate every second of it. I don’t know how much of a delight I’m going to be the next months.”

“As if you were a delight when we met.”

He laughs at that, not much but _some_ —

Well.

Hopefully he’s _not_ going to be as bad off as he was back _then_.)

 

 

_Two months later_

 

 

“You asked about those drawings, a while ago,” Jaime tells Baratheon at the beginning of month three. It’s been ten sessions and they were barely enough to scratch the surface, apparently, but he’s not going to ask himself how much _more_ he has to dig into the mess in his head before he figures _some_ of it out.

“I did. You remembered?”

He sighs. “I’ll do you one better. Turns out, _my brother_ had them.”

“Your brother?”

“I don’t know _how_. But I mentioned that I was seeing someone about Cersei, he said it was about time, I told him about the whole drawings business, and he stands up, goes to the attic and comes down with this box with a bunch of them inside. He said they were in the back of _my_ closet when I was fourteen, one day he saw Cersei putting it in the trash, he went to check, got the feeling that it was something important and put them in _his_ closet. I don’t know why he’d have brought that to _his_ house, but. Anyway, here they are.” He takes the box from the backpack he brought and hands it over.

Baratheon takes it with a nod, thanking him, and starts going through the entire thing. Jaime only glances at them.

But he can’t help noticing that in the ones he sees where _he_ is present, he drew himself _without_ hands.

Somehow, even if he doesn’t know what the fuck is Baratheon looking for, it’s _not_ a good thing.

He stares at the drawings for ten minutes, then puts them away.

“Did — they suggest anything you didn’t know already?” Jaime asks, cautiously.

“No,” Baratheon says. “Actually, they’re just confirming what I’ve been thinking since day one.”

Well, _fuck_.

“Fine,” Jaime says. “Hit me. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to know, right?”

Baratheon moves his elbows on the table, glances for a moment at the picture of most-likely-his-daughter on the corner of his desk, then looks back up at him again.

“Very well. I’m going to tell you straight up — when you told me you _hadn’t_ remembered that episode at all, it was a red flag. Given everything else you’ve said up to this point and how you reacted to recalling it _and_ what you’ve said about your general coping mechanisms —”

“ _Coping mechanisms_?”

“You might not know it was _that_ , but you’ve used a _lot_ of them. And this is where I tell you that repression or suppression of traumatic memories is very common, when discussing child abuse victims. Especially male ones.”

He doesn’t know why his first instinct is denying it.

It’s _fucking ridiculous_.

He went to a guy who’s a fucking authority on the subject because deep down he knew _that_ could be the issue, if he even _thinks_ about that one memory he wants to throw up, since he remembered that he hasn’t been able to walk near dogs without wanting to jump on the other side of the road, it’s been two months and he’s gained a new awareness of how unhealthy his entire life was until he broke it off with _her_ —

And still, his first instinct is telling him, _it can’t be_?

He looks back up at Baratheon. He’s sending him a _knowing_ look.

“Let me guess,” Jaime says, “you knew I was about to deny it?”

“Maybe,” he answers. “But I’m afraid it’s the case. I could have told you earlier than this, but I wanted to be sure and those drawings… pretty much confirmed it.”

“So what, dead trees are red flags?”

“Trees with broken branches are. The fact that your hands aren’t drawn in _any_ of those pictures is also telling. Or that your sister somehow looks always larger than you do, or your brother does, but I don’t think this is what you want to discuss now.”

“Not to contradict the verdict,” he says, “but doesn’t it change anything that she was — I mean, she also was —”

“This is the part where I tell you that children _can_ do it to other children. Of course _she_ wouldn’t knowingly have a clue of what she was doing, but it doesn’t change the crux of it. Also, while I cannot say anything about your _sister_ as I haven’t diagnosed _her_ , I think your problem isn’t just what she did, it’s the context.”

He swallows.

“And what would that be?”

“From what you’ve told me,” Baratheon says, “your sister shows _all_ the signs of… well, let’s say she would have needed psychological support _then_ and probably now. I cannot say for sure, of course, but my working theory is that she always saw you as her male counterpart… in the sense of an _extension_ of herself, if you grasp my meaning, which means that I’m afraid she didn’t consider your needs _then_ nor has considered them at any point after.”

He thinks about it. Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe he’s —

No.

He knows he’s right. He can’t think of _one_ single instance where _his_ needs came first, unless she needed something.

“Also, what you said about her behavior with other friends of hers who seemed to _like_ you, suggests that at that point she was possessive of you in the worst way. And if she can’t accept that you don’t want anything to do with her anymore, that only cements it.”

He drinks the glass of water that was already on the desk.

He’s not surprised that Baratheon thought he’d need it.

“And what does that mean for me?” He asks. His fingers are shaking again.

Baratheon takes a very, very deep breath. “A lot of things. And you will hate to hear this.”

“I haven’t _liked_ hearing anything else, did I?”

“Fair. Well. You definitely have post traumatic stress disorder, with a strong tendency to turn to dissociation if triggered, which was definitely the case when you remembered that one episode. It does add up with the fact that you forgot it until you ended up in the exact same context.”

“Could — could it have happened other times?”

“It could or it could not, but now that you know, it _might_ happen again. If you remembered that one time and there were others, it could be the case. What’s blatantly clear, though, is that you were _not_ willing at that point, not even for… experimenting, I suppose, also because what you said happened is _not_ normal experimentation in between children.”

“Categorically?”

“Categorically. Also, from what you said about your _relationships_ in general, a direct consequence could be that while you’re certainly _not_ without charisma yourself, you _don’t_ have many friends or meaningful relationships beyond the few you told me, and that’s also a possible consequence which I think might be the case here. What is honestly surprising in the positive sense is… what you told me your brother said, at some point.”

“What exactly?”

“That you’ve thought for years you actually _were_ the same person as she was while your behavior said otherwise.”

“… What if I told you I was always angry when he pointed that out?”

“Then I’m afraid some part of you knew already.”

Well, _fuck._

He did get what he came for, didn’t he?

Fuck.

_Fuck_.

He clenches his fingers together.

“All right,” he says. “And what do I do about this?”

Baratheon _almost_ smiles at that.

“For one, you should feel good about having just asked me _that_ question.”

“… Should I?”

“It shows you _do_ want to do something about it, which is not a given, and that you aren’t trying to convince yourself that it cannot be true.”

“I did come here in the first place, didn’t I? I — listen, she ruined my life already. I can’t — I can’t get like _that_ again.”

“Well, that’s a good attitude. And honestly, all things considered, you haven’t done too badly until now, I think. _All things considered_. Anyway, now that you know, we can see about working on actual ways of dealing with it on top of, well, discussing your previous history, because I have a feeling there is more to say on that topic. But just to be sure of one thing, has remembering that episode affected your sexual life?”

Shit. _Obviously_ he had to ask. Thank fuck the answer isn’t as embarrassing as it could have been.

“Yes and no.”

“Such as?”

“It hasn’t on a, hm, _basic_ level. I mean, we _did_ have sex since then. It hasn’t changed _that_. But before we really were… I mean, pretty _varied_ , if you get what I mean. Especially because it’s not like either of us had to keep it hidden, we could indulge and she really didn’t have much experience on her own before because, uhm, let’s just say she’s not exactly standard attractive, so she didn’t have anyone else _serious_ , if you get my meaning. So — she was just very open about trying out things and whatnot. And now, she’s obviously holding back because she doesn’t want to risk putting me in _that_ position again and while it’s — _nice_ of her, well. On one side I’d rather go back to how it was before, but on the other… I can’t help thinking that she might be right and I shouldn’t push it.”

“Have you talked about it?”

He wants to laugh. “Not really. I just — don’t want her to be disappointed,” he admits.

“Has she been _disappointed_ before?”

“Not really.”

“Then I think you should start by talking to her. Do you have any reason to think she would be this time? Did she give you any hint of it?”

“… No, actually.”

“Well, you don’t have to tell her what you told _me_ , but just saying that it’s better to avoid _that_ one specific situation and then work back up to your previous standards slowly would work. I forgot to say before, but you have a tendency to assume that people might see your worth just if tied to how useful you can be to them. _Or_ that they might see you as a commodity and would end up being disappointed if you failed to live up to their expectations… but your girlfriend isn’t your sister, you need not to overlap your previous expectations on a new person. Did she show you any sign of seeing you as a commodity? If she hasn’t, talking to her about it should be a fairly easy place to start from, if you want to address the immediate issues at least.”

“What if it sounds like a complete nightmare now that you’re telling me what to do about it?”

“I told you you would hate it, didn’t I?”

He _almost_ wants to laugh.

“You did,” he admits. “Well, fine. I never wanted to be famous for not facing things I hate.”

“If anything you _do_ have the right attitude.”

At least he has _that_ , he realizes.

Except that —

“Let me just ask you something rhetorical,” Jaime says then, his voice suddenly dropping down low.

“Ask away.”

“If — if this entire thing we had started because _she_ thought I was her other half and — I somehow never questioned it, if I obviously _didn’t_ want it or I wouldn’t have reacted that way and if I spent thirty years more or less _using coping mechanisms_ to deal with… _things,_ even if I didn’t even know I was doing it… well. I always thought it was mutual.”

Baratheon nods.

“Was it, then?” He asks.

Baratheon takes a deep breath, then looks back up at him. “That’s something for _you_ to know. I can’t tell you if it was or it wasn’t, because _I_ didn’t live it. What I can tell you is that in the beginning, she definitely didn’t let you have a choice in it _and_ that when you were _seven_ you didn’t want it on a sexual level. The rest is for you to decide. But whatever conclusion you come to, whether you feel like you _did_ want it or not, it says nothing less of you either way. Just remember that.”

“I’ll — I’ll try to,” he says.

On one side, he feels hollowed out.

On the other —

On the other maybe now he can begin to make sense of this entire fucking mess.

He can’t believe she —

No.

No, he came here, he heard the verdict, he didn’t question it.

He _can_ believe it indeed.

He just wishes he didn’t have to.

 

— —

 

(Brienne walks outside the car the moment he comes out of the building. Usually she waits, but he supposes he looks like shit enough that she _would_.

She stops right in front of him.

“What happened?” She asks.

“Is it so obvious something did?”

“What if it is?”

He has no idea of what she’s seeing right now. Something worrying, he has the feeling.

“Well. _Nothing_ happened, technically.” He breathes in the chilly air. “It’s just, our man spoke his wisdom.”

“So — you _know_?”

He shrugs. His shoulders tremble. “It’s exactly what I thought it might have been. I hoped it might not, but — it is.”

She glances down at him, her eyes going wide, her lips parting —

He hopes she doesn’t ask anything further because he doesn’t know if he could answer —

She shakes her head and moves her arms around him.

He hugs her back and he’s just so thankful she’s just not trying to talk about it, he could fucking cry —

Maybe he does.

Maybe he doesn’t.

They don’t get inside the car for a while.)

 

 

_Three months later_

 

 

The moment he sits down in the passenger seat, he knows Brienne _knows_ just from the way she’s looking at him.

He’s about to make some dumb joke about how he’s predictable by now before she can ask _what_ exactly went down during therapy.

“We’re going to Claridge’s,” she declares a moment later.

“What —”

“And _I’m_ paying,” she says, starting the car.

“Brienne, it’s _seventy quid_ each —”

“And you just got out of what looks like an hour of emotional walk through three levels of Hell, I’ve been budgeting, _you_ have been budgeting, it’s not going to kill either of us if we get treated once in a while.”

“And you’re hoping to find a spot to park there?”

“No, but we can leave the car at the nearest useful tube station and take it there.”

“If you’re sure —”

“I’m one hundred percent sure and I’m not hearing otherwise.”

He could have pressed, but given what has just come up in the previous hour the idea of ridiculously overpriced tea that he could have had any other day years ago but would _really_ be a treat now sounds pretty damn great, so he doesn’t protest and lets her drive until they get to a tube station that would bring them close enough.

He’s just so damn grateful she’s not asking for details, he could do something exceedingly embarrassing, and so he concentrates on getting inside the tube and not think about the fact that today was the day he had to come to terms with the fact that he _couldn’t_ be sure whether he and Cersei would have been a thing if she hadn’t just… told him they were since he could remember.

His skin is still crawling at the thought, and so he tries to _not_ go there. He’s not being _too_ successful. but he’s going to sure as fuck try.

It goes well enough until they walk out of the tube.

“Brienne Tarth?” An unfamiliar voice asks, sounding fairly surprised. Jaime stops as Brienne does the same and turn towards it —

“I see you couldn’t have just avoided me, _could you_?” She groans, and wait — the guy has bright red hair, blue eyes, a handsome enough face, and it reads like that guy she told him about who —

“Oh, are you _still_ angry? It happened in high school, we were all young and stupid.”

“Actually you were old enough to know that humiliating people in public is _wrong_ , that there was nothing fun about leaving me _signed_ Valentine’s Day cards and then tell everyone that you just wanted to see if I fell for it, so yes, I’m still angry. Now sorry but I actually have better things to do than wasting my time with you.”

“Such as?” He seems to be very, very amused. Jaime already hated this Ronnet’s guts from what Brienne told him, but now that he sees him in the flesh that one assumption is definitely confirmed.

“I don’t know,” Jaime says, smoothly, making sure the guy notices that he’s there, “going on dates is an option. Or do you have zero experience with the practice? Given your personality, I have no doubts.”

“And who are you?”

“The guy she goes on dates with,” Jaime retorts, and for a moment he feels a certain glee when Ronnet seems to not conceive that _he_ is the guy _Brienne_ is seeing —

Then he squints.

Then he looks at her.

“Seriously?” He asks her.

“So what? You’re so shocked that I’m dating someone way hotter than you are?”

Jaime _would_ have laughed.

But then —

“Yeah, and he’s got what, ten years on you? I mean, where I come from if you date people _that_ much younger than you and someone calls you a pedophile they’re not _wrong_ —”

Jaime’s good mood disappears at once as he feels blood draining from his face — fuck, _fuck_ , this is not the time, this is not the _moment_ , he can’t freak out now, not when he actually hasn’t done it _that_ badly in a month, but his hands are sweating and his throat is closing on itself and he wants to scream _how could you ask_ , okay, he doesn’t know, he can’t know, and if he’d tell he probably would say he went looking for it same as people on the few online forums he tried to join (and then gave up on) said, and shit, okay, he has ten years on her but it never was a problem because fuck knows she’s way better adjusted to _anything_ than he is regardless of _her_ own issues —

Then he hears a crunching sound loud enough that it brings him back to earth, and —

Oh.

That was — Ronnet’s _face_ , because Brienne has just punched him hard enough that the bruise is already visible and there’s blood on the side of his mouth.

“Are you crazy _?”_ He chokes, spitting blood on the ground. “Okay, you always were a bitch, but —”

She clenches her fingers again and moves closer. “You want me to do it again?” She asks. “Because there was a lot more where that came from. Please shut up about things you don’t know about. I can vote, I can drive, I can defend myself and I can decide for myself who I’m dating, and given that I’m bloody taller than he is, I _really_ don’t think there’s any child molesting going on here. If you want to be useful in that sense, donate some money to the NSPCC next Christmas and stop trying to tell me what to do when if I ever gave a damn about your opinion, I stopped in high school.”

Then she grabs Jaime’s arm and drags him around the corner — it’s a smaller alley, thankfully, and when he breathes in he feels like he has just come up from a month underwater.

“Hey,” she tells him, her bruised hand gently grabbing his wrists and squeezing, “I’m sorry, I don’t know where that arse even came from —”

“It’s — I’m good,” he says. “That was pretty damn badass, you know?”

She shrugs. “Well, he fucking deserved it. Christ, I can fucking _vote_ and I pay my own bills and he comes here bitching about how _old_ you are?”

“Let me guess, he never really understood that you _wouldn’t_ see anyone you don’t want in the first place?”

“I had enough of assholes with him and the others. But never mind _him_. Are _you_ all right? Because for a moment —”

“I know. It was going badly, but I think seeing you punch that ass in the face rectified it.” He forces himself to half-smile, at least he’d give her a sign he _is_ coping.

“If you want to go home we can just do it another time,” she goes on.

He considers it.

Then he shakes his head. “No, actually — I kind of really feel like overpriced tea.” And fuck him, he actually _does_ mean it. The idea of sitting down in that ridiculous posh place and getting treated to it with _her_ sounds really great right now, and if he goes home he’ll just think about _why_ he was about to lose his shit earlier and he’ll think about that asshole —

“All right,” she says, her hand moving down and grabbing his. “Then Claridge’s it is. And — he doesn’t know shit. You _know_ that, don’t you?”

“I know,” he says. “I just wish I didn’t _care_ , but —”

“ _Please_ ,” she interrupts him, “given how the last six months have gone, I think you need to stop being that hard on yourself. So, are we going to spend beyond our means already or what?”

“Fuck, yeah, let’s do it,” he says, realizing he’s kind of smiling for real as he tangles his fingers with hers and they head out of the hallway.

Maybe he _will_ stop being hard on himself, he reasons, just not _now_ —

But he’s getting there, isn’t he?

 

 

End.


End file.
